


Grey

by sugareey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Mystery, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Suspense, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-11
Updated: 2007-08-11
Packaged: 2018-10-01 06:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10183094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugareey/pseuds/sugareey
Summary: Draco remembers a lot. He's just having a hard time accepting it so he can move on. Post-HBP.Disclaimer: Characters and such belong to J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers,  Bloomsbury, Scholastic, etc. However, it is my duty to manipulate. No profit is being made from this story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

It’s raining for the seventh day in a row and there is no end in sight. At least that’s how Draco feels each morning he wakes up. Every time he opens his eyes, he makes sure to look through the window, which either lets in bright sunlight, or else shows the gloomy reflection staring back at him. Right now, he’s glancing at himself _again_. It makes him hate the rain a whole lot more. 

Groaning, Draco turns onto his side, pulling the covers over his head so he can’t see anything. He wants to sleep in for the day, without any interruptions. He wants peace. But when something pokes his side, he knows he won’t have that today. Draco pulls the blanket tighter around his body, refusing to get up from bed. He’s being poked again and again, and by the fifth time, he can’t take it anymore. 

“What the hell do you want?” he finally snarls, not bothering to remove the blanket off of himself. 

“C’mon. Get up, Malfoy. We have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Do we have to go through this again?”

“Enlighten me.”

“More Order stuff,” is the response before Draco feels his safety blanket slip away from his grasp. He feels exposed, despite the fact he does have pyjama bottoms on. Then again, he has no shirt, meaning the scars on his chest are visible. Sitting up, Draco glances down before running a finger along one of them. It’s smooth. 

He does this every so often, just to check that he’s still alive…that so far, he has survived. It’s the only proof he has that he made it on his own. Almost. Because he knows he owes it to Potter, who is now curiously staring at him. Draco doesn’t have to look up to know that. He can feel it. But if it weren’t for Potter, he could be dead. Or else in the hands of the Dark Lord. Personally, Draco would have preferred death. It would have been easier on his part.

So when he looks up to meet Potter’s gaze, he gives him a tight smile before smoothing his finger over the scar again. Potter smiles back hesitantly before scratching his head. It looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. Draco shrugs, running a hand through his hair. He waits for Potter to elaborate but there is only silence. Potter still feels guilty. Just when Draco decides to walk to the bathroom though…

“Kingsley and Moody want you down in five minutes, ‘kay?”

“What?” asks Draco, raising an eyebrow.

“Five minutes, Malfoy. You know how important this is.”

“I’m not stupid, Potter.”

“I didn’t say you were—”

But Draco doesn’t hear the rest of Potter’s sentence as he slams the bathroom door behind him. He needs a shower if he wants to make himself look presentable. The Order is trusting him, and he can’t let them think he’s scum, now can he? Yes, a shower would do. 

_Make that ten more minutes of waiting, Potter,_ Draco muses as he turns the water on. Sometimes he wonders why he bothers. What’s the point? He still doesn’t know the answer yet.

~~~~~

When Draco was a young, he was told to make his parents proud. After all, he was the one and only son of Lucius and Narcissa, and what more could they ask for? With light blond hair, deep grey eyes and a curious smile, Draco was the perfect little boy. Though Narcissa was the one who fed him and played with him, it was Lucius who properly educated Draco to grow up to become a man. To become a Malfoy.

Every time Lucius had asked him to do something, Draco always complied. And despite the hours it took to practice simple spells to make things disappear or float in the air, he never gave up. He made sure he mastered each spell he learned, just to hear Lucius say, “Well done, Draco. That’s my son.” That was what he wanted to hear, anyway, because that meant he was doing the right thing. 

When Lucius had him perform much darker curses, it was no surprise to Draco. The Dark Arts were naturally part of the Malfoy bloodline. Yet he had been doubtful when Lucius first cast the Imperius Curse on a beetle that was crawling around in the study one day. Draco was entranced, seeing Lucius move his wand with the flick of his wrist to make the beetle rise into the air. With another flick, the beetle crashed into the window before falling onto the floor. 

“Now you try it,” Lucius told his son, nodding at the wand in Draco’s hand. “Go on. Show me what you can do.”

Draco gripped his wand tightly, watching the beetle make its way onto the carpet after regaining its balance. 

“ _I-Imperio_ ,” muttered Draco quietly, trying his best to concentrate in empowering the creature. But he couldn’t do more than make the insect jump a few inches in the air. 

“Again,” drawled Lucius with a frown. 

Draco could only nod as he repeated the curse again and again, only to fail once, then twice more. Perhaps he needed more time to get the hang of it. But a few more attempts hadn’t gotten Draco anywhere. Before he could utter the incantation again, he was startled by the bright, green light that filled the study. 

He hadn’t been able to understand it at the time, but the look on Lucius’ face said it all. Draco bit his lip when he saw the beetle on its back, unmoving. _Dead._ Looking at his father again, Draco could see the sneer of disgust on his face. That was when he learned what disappointment was. 

It was when nothing went right. It was when your father turned his back on you to leave, only to lock the door behind him. It was when you realised that you failed for the first time at such a young age. It was when you threw your wand onto the floor before sinking down to cry. That was exactly what Draco did. All because he couldn’t make his father proud. 

But there was always next time. Next time, Draco would try harder. He would push himself to do better and _be_ better, just to see his father smile with approval. That was all he needed. _Approval._

~~~~~

Draco thought he knew what it meant to be the best, until he went to Hogwarts. At age eleven, he had grown to be an extremely talented boy who not only knew magical history dating back to Grindelwald’s times, but he knew how to play Quidditch as well. If that wasn’t enough, he had caught on fast when Lucius taught him more complex spells that were good enough for dueling.

“ _You must always be prepared_ ,” Lucius reminded him before each demonstration. “ _Do not trust your enemy._ ”

And with the two cronies his mother set him up with, things were finally looking up. Greg and Vince were too daft for their own good, so even though Draco didn’t particularly like them, he kept them by his side anyway. They didn’t seem to mind, though, since they looked up to Draco with awe. That was why he was confident he could get whatever he wanted. So when the great Harry Potter rejected his friendship, Draco didn’t know what went wrong. 

That first day at Hogwarts was when his hatred for Potter flourished. Not because Potter chose Weasley as his friend. Not because of his cheekiness. Draco hated Potter for thinking he was better than him. But when Potter was sorted into Gryffindor, Draco decided he didn’t really make a mistake after all. They were on opposite sides. Good versus evil. He also had a new goal to accomplish: to compete against Potter to prove who was best. This was how their legendary rivalry began.

~~~~~

Fifth year was when everything changed. That was when Draco and his fellow Slytherins were on the Inquisitorial Squad, trying to catch Potter and his groupies in favor of Umbridge. Draco didn’t really care for Umbridge, but since she was associated with the Ministry, it was best to make a good impression. And to please his parents, especially Lucius.

But when Lucius was taken away to Azkaban, Draco’s perfect world crumbled. When he heard that the Ministry barged into the manor with Aurors, he could do no more than scribble a quick but reassuring note to Narcissa, who had apparently lost her composure as his mother. Who was left? Who could Draco possibly look up to? Who could he blame? 

_Potter_. 

Draco made Potter his scapegoat for everything. Potter was the one who had Lucius imprisoned. He was the reason why the Ministry was going after his family. He was the one that made Draco weak. But Draco wasn’t going to have it. He made sure to yell at Potter the next time they saw each other face to face in the Entrance Hall. He wanted Potter to pay and he wanted revenge. 

Draco made sure he could obtain that revenge by the time the Dark Lord asked for him. Narcissa had pleaded for Draco to think things more thoroughly, for her sake, his _own_ sake. But Draco ignored her. He had a reputation to maintain, in honour of Lucius. He carefully listened as Severus announced the two tasks the Dark Lord was proposing to him. In return, he and his mother would be protected. Draco only nodded in agreement. He had no choice but to accept. Draco wanted safety. Most importantly, he wanted to survive. Whatever the hell that meant.

~~~~~

By the end of sixth year, Draco was devoid of everything. Every time he looked into the mirror, he saw a ghost. And he was always tired. He was tired of putting on his mask of indifference, pretending nothing was wrong. So much that was toward the truth. He had wanted to give up on the Dark Lord’s plan but something in his mind told him to go on.

_What if you get it this time? What if you succeed? You’ll be doing the right thing._

But was murder the right thing? Would that give Draco back the approval that had been taken away from him? Would he be the Dark Lord’s most devoted servant? Was that what he wanted? 

Draco immediately dismissed those questions whenever he was working in the Room of Requirement. He also tried to ignore the fact that Potter was stalking him. _Stalking_ might not have been the correct term, but spying, following…Potter was everywhere all of a sudden. That made Draco hate him more than ever. It was Potter who actually cared about what he was doing. And Potter was the one who motivated him not to give up. Not after Potter slashed him open. Not after seeing him kneel by his side, apologising frantically over and over again. And long after Draco had lost consciousness, he still heard Potter’s voice and saw those brilliant green eyes, staring back at him with concern. 

He almost felt sympathetic for the boy. Typical Gryffindor. But all the fondness for Potter evaporated as soon as Draco saw him the night the Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts. Potter was the one chasing him and Snape away. One glance back and Draco remembered that Harry Potter was the Chosen One. The Boy-Who-Lived. He was supposed to be invincible. 

With that dark look of fury etched into his face, Potter was ready to kill. So Draco ran. He ran and ran until he didn’t know where he was going anymore. That was when he disappeared into the night sky. That was the last time Draco saw Potter, until they met a couple months later in Little Hangleton of all places.

~~~~~

“Malfoy?”

Draco snaps out of his stupor, gazing at Potter, who seems to be frowning. Potter always frowns now. Or he yawns or morosely shakes his head every time Weasley and Granger get into another pointless row. Draco wonders if they were like this back at Hogwarts. 

“Malfoy, are you listening to what we’re saying at all?” Granger interrupts his thoughts. 

“Of course I am,” answers Draco stubbornly, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. 

“We _do_ have a reason for your presence at these meetings.”

“After all,” adds Weasley darkly, “You’re on our side now. So long as we don’t let you out of our sight, that is.”

As much as Draco wants to retort back, he restrains himself when Moody starts going over safety procedures again. So he resorts to glaring at Weasley. When will these ruddy people open up their eyes, damn it! Can’t they see that there _is_ no good or evil anymore? There’s no black and white, like there once was years ago. This war has merged into grey. Draco sees grey everywhere, from the reflection of his haunted face to the walls of Grimmauld Place. People must be really blind if they can’t see it. 

He changes his mind later on though when Potter brings up some new information. As soon as the meeting disassembles, Potter gestures for Draco to follow him into the crammed pantry. Draco thinks he must be hearing things when Potter mentions a prophecy. He has read the rumours in the _Daily Prophet_ , but never actually confronted Potter about them. Why would he? But Potter is telling him why they need to destroy the Horcruxes as soon as possible.

“To kill the Dark Lord, obviously,” Draco interjects one of Potter’s ramblings. 

“Yeah, before he kills me,” Potter says quietly, shifting uncomfortably. 

“You think he could?”

Potter opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it. It makes Draco wonder what he’s hiding. Probably a lot. It must have taken some real guts to trust a rival so quickly. Draco doesn’t know if he trusts Potter. But then he remembers what his father once told him, so he decides he does. Draco glances at Potter, only to see him playing with the hem of his Muggle t-shirt. 

“He probably could,” Potter finally answers. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, Malfoy, I’m not going to hide things from you anymore,” concludes Potter, looking intently at Draco. “Voldemort can kill me if he wants to. He can touch me as much as I can touch him. He’s practically human, but not quite.”

“You mean not at all.”

“The point is, I _know_ he can kill me. The bloody prophecy says so. And it almost came true…twice.”

Draco stays silent, feeling the blood rush to his brain in the matter of seconds. So this prophecy is true then? How long has Potter known about it? But then again, Divination isn’t always reliable. Draco had learned that ages ago. 

“You can’t believe what some dodgy fortune teller tells you, Potter.”

“But you would believe it if I told you Dumbledore heard it, right?” replies Potter fiercely, taking a step closer. “What if I told you Snape did too? What if I told you he was the one who tipped Voldemort off with only half of what it said? What if I told you that that was why my parents died?”

“I-I didn’t know,” Draco stutters for the first time in a year. He hasn’t been this intimidated since he met the Dark Lord personally last summer. He shudders at the thought, trying to focus back on Potter.

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Potter shouts in Draco’s face. “You thought he was _good?_ Did you really think Snape cares about you? He’s probably off with the rest of the lot, coming up with a plan to attack another city any day now!”

“Snape is my godfather!” retorts Draco hotly. “Surely, you would understand what it’s like to have one!”

Potter doesn’t say anything. Instead, he slaps Draco hard on the face. Draco can feel his cheek throbbing, knowing that a mark will appear later on. But it startles him nonetheless. He hasn’t had a row with Potter for as long as he can remember. And for this to happen, especially now…

“Shut up!” Potter growls, grabbing Draco by his shirt collar. “He’s dead because of your aunt, Malfoy! He’s dead because if it weren’t for your stupid father—”

“My father is in prison because of you!” accuses Draco, shoving Potter away from him. He knows this row is going in circles, but he doesn’t care. He’s angry, because Potter doesn’t know how he feels about that subject. Losing his father made him lose his pride.

“What do you have to say to that? What do you have to say to the fact that all your family and friends are always after mine? I don’t even know _why_ I took you in…”

But Draco isn’t listening. He now understands why he is at Grimmauld Place. It was out of pity. He despises Potter more than he thought he could, not only for saving him after barely managing to escape from the Riddle House, but for doing it because of guilt. Suddenly, Draco no longer wants to see Potter’s face. 

He immediately strides out of the pantry, ignoring the glare that burns into his back. He’s shaking. Thank Merlin no one is in the kitchen to see him in such a vulnerable state. But then he forgets about Potter again, who has somehow caught up with him. Draco feels Potter’s hand on his shoulder. He wishes he could appreciate the gesture, but he can’t. He knows he was never wanted in the first place. 

“Malfoy…”

“Get off of me!” yells Draco before he is spun around by strong hands. His eyes widen when he sees Potter’s face almost inches away from his.

“Look, I didn’t mean it…” starts Potter apologetically. 

“You did!” Draco bites out harshly, disregarding the sting in his eyes. “And you know what? You’re r-right! It has always been like that. Except when the Dark Lord killed her!”

“Who?” inquires Potter tensely. 

“My m-mother!”

Once the words are out of his mouth, Draco dashes up the stairs. He can’t have Potter see him like this. He can’t fall apart. And he doesn’t want to talk about it, even though Potter is the only person he has told so far.

~~~~~~

Draco would have ran away if it weren’t for the fact that Voldemort could kill him the minute he stepped foot onto the Muggle street. He’s still here in this depressing place, but it’s better than nothing. He usually spends most of his time in his room. The times when he _has_ to eat meals are a different story.

He can’t help but admit that Mrs. Weasley’s cooking is one of a kind. He’s surprised the woman can create such delicious meals with her own two hands. Narcissa never really liked to cook. She always left that to the house elves. Food isn’t the issue though. It’s the conversation, because it’s non-existent. Draco has a feeling it has to do with his presence.

Why do they keep asking him to attend stupid Order meetings then? They could always tell him to stay in his room. But every single morning, Potter still comes to wake Draco up. Draco thinks it’s useless, since none of the Order like him anyway. But Potter only sighs before leaving. Draco notices that Potter doesn’t poke him anymore, let alone touch him. It’s unsettling, yet he doesn’t know why. 

Then there is one day when Draco wakes up himself by mid-afternoon. Instantly, he knows something is wrong because Potter hasn’t called for him. In fact, Potter hasn’t even come into his room at all. Draco can feel the tightness clenched around his heart as he runs down the flights of stairs to look for him. He pauses, only to see a dozen Order members gathered by the doorway. A noisy lot they are. 

Draco manages to go down a few more steps until he feels his blood turn to ice. He sees Granger and Weasley holding up Potter under his arms. They are all covered in filth, along with deep gashes. And in Potter’s cloth-covered hand…

“Is that a Horcrux?” asks Draco shakily, staring from the small golden cup to Potter’s dirty face. 

All the chatter ceases as soon as everyone sees Draco walking toward them, his face paling by the second. Draco isn’t sure why he cares, but he just knows he does. He stares at Potter, who gazes right back. Weasley glowers at him, shifting closer toward Potter. But Granger’s face seems to be blank. Draco doesn’t know what to make of it when he sees her nod her head slightly, as if giving him the permission to go to Potter. So he does. And surprisingly, the rest of the Order members make way for him to get by.

“Is that a Horcrux?” Draco repeats, now directly in front of Potter.

Potter only nods, licking off the blood that stains his chapped lips. He holds the cup out to Draco with a trembling hand, trying his best to stand up on his own, but to no avail. Granger and Weasley have to pull him up as he breathes out heavily. 

Draco carefully takes the cup and cloth from Potter. Examining it, he realises he is carrying a fragment of the Dark Lord. And the Order actually trusts him with something so important? What if he were to run out right now? What if he were to go to the Dark Lord and spill out all the information he has learned during the last few weeks? 

But he doesn’t have time to think about such ideas. Setting the cup down on the rickety table near the doorway, Draco lifts his hand toward Potter’s face, using his thumb to wipe a smudge of dirt off of Potter’s nose. Potter raises his eyebrows, but Draco merely shakes his head.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he finally announces, gesturing for Weasley and Granger to go into the living room. 

Draco can see how shocked everyone is about his calm manner. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley glance at each other in confusion, while the Weasley siblings converse quietly with each other, probably about him again. Kingsley and Tonks can only frown, and McGonagall is concerned. Moody secretly grins. 

But Draco is more focused on Potter, who smiles sincerely at him for the first time. Was he seeing things? Was that directed toward him? This is new. Draco realises he has never seen him smile before. Does Potter smile often? Draco can only give him back a smile of his own. One of civility. He hopes he can get used this. He hopes Harry Potter will smile like that more in the future.

~~~~~

Grimmauld Place seems friendlier after Draco healed some of Harry’s wounds. Of course, he had let Mrs. Weasley take over eventually, as Draco didn’t want her to make a big fuss. But Draco knows what Harry has to go through. He knows Harry suffers every step he takes to kill the Dark Lord. That’s why even now, Draco watches him closely as he mumbles something in a voice so low, only Granger and Weasley can hear. They nod in agreement before going back to their research.

Research isn’t any good in a war like this, but Draco doesn’t say anything. He knows how the Dark Lord’s mind works. The Dark Lord likes sick and twisted things. He certainly had the pleasure of burning the Dark Mark into Draco’s skin. Draco wishes there was some spell to get rid of it. It makes him feel so ugly, so tainted.

The Dark Lord also likes to see people suffer. He likes to see them beg for mercy, only so he can laugh in their faces before killing them in a second. That was how it was for his mother. Draco was there to see it happen. Sometimes, her screams still fill his ears at night. Those are the nights that keep Draco awake, the sheets tangling up with his legs. It makes it that much harder to distinguish reality from nightmares. Except he forgets they are part of reality already.

That is why only Draco knew how to destroy the cup. He had taken the cup into the study the following evening after it was found, experimenting with the simple spells his father taught him before resorting to darker ones. When none of those worked, he reluctantly cast the Unforgivables, one by one. Draco remembers how scared Granger and Weasley were when he used the Killing Curse. Harry showed no emotion at all. He only stared as the cup melted before their eyes as Tom Riddle’s laugh faded into thin air. Draco had fallen to his knees afterward, too shaken to understand what he had done. He once could have been a killer, if he chose to.

“Oy, Malfoy!” Weasley calls out to him like a pet dog. “Come over here, will you?”

Draco frowns at the redhead for disrupting his deliberations, but walks over to the kitchen table. He takes the chair opposite of Granger, shooting his trademark smirk at Weasley. He turns to Granger and Harry. 

“Well?”

“Have you ever been to Woodcroft before?” Granger asks suddenly, pointing to the map spread out in front of her. 

“What do you think?” 

“I take that as a no,” replies Weasley nastily, narrowing his eyes.

“Ron…” warns Harry, who has his chin resting on his forearms.

“If he's not going to help—”

“I’ve never been there, Weasel,” Draco interjects, “but that does not mean I will not help to find it.”

Granger grins brightly, while Weasley glowers sullenly at the map. Harry shoots him a relieved look. Draco shrugs his shoulders before skimming the map to locate the small village.

“It’s in Gloucestershire. I reckon that’s a bit far from here, but it’s over there, near…”

Draco trails off mouth when he takes a double-take at the map. The village is near Wiltshire, where Malfoy Manor would be if the Death Eaters hadn’t burned it down. Draco knows this is for the Horcrux search, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking about the pieces of his childhood. Something that once existed. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gets up to leave. 

“Malfoy?”

“It’s near the manor,” he says, his voice cracking. He trudges up the stairs, letting memories overwhelm him. His one true home has disintegrated into nothing. He could have been an heir, carrying on the Malfoy name. He could have inherited the riches and fame his ancestors once had. He could have been successful. 

It doesn’t hit him immediately until he reaches the hallway toward his bedroom on the third floor. Draco can see the portraits eying him wearily, shaking their heads shamefully. _This isn’t his home._ He _has_ no home. And he knows probably won’t ever have one. Not when he can’t be accepted for being the person he is. Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy.

~~~~~

Draco groans loudly when there’s a knock at the door. It’s two in the morning, and what could someone possibly want at this bloody hour? He throws his pillow over his head, hoping the knocking will stop. It doesn’t. It takes about thirty seconds for Draco to jump out of bed to swing open the door.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Really?” inquires Draco, unsure if the knot in his gut is from aggravation or something else. “And you didn’t think of going to Weaselette to take care of that?”

“Ginny and I are _not_ going out anymore,” snaps Harry defensively, closing the door behind him. “Things are different now.”

“Yes, different. So different that she went back to Thomas again, eh?”

“Don’t start, Malfoy. Just _don’t_.”

Draco smirks, watching Harry settle down on his bed. He notices Harry’s t-shirt outlines the form of his body quite nicely. The green pyjama bottoms aren’t too bad either. Those would be something Draco would pick out for himself. And…why is he taking in such small details all of a sudden? Since when did Harry become nice? Since when did he refer to Potter as Harry? 

Sitting in the chair next to the bedside, Draco stretches his legs out before leaning back. He stifles a yawn and glances at Harry again. And that’s when they lock eyes. That’s when Draco experiences something he never has before. There’s some type of powerful connection between them, he can tell. Draco feels alive for the first time in Merlin knows how many months. It’s like he actually matters.

It fades away the moment Draco glances away, though, leaving him feeling empty again. Maybe he is dreaming. Maybe he is getting his hopes up too high, thinking he can get something good out of this war. Slumping back in his chair, Draco observes the shadows on the ceiling. He can hear the crickets chirping through the open window, with the swish of the occasional car passing by. 

“Hey,” murmurs Harry, grabbing his attention again. “D’you want to talk?”

“About what?” queries Draco absently, still watching the shadows.

“Draco, look at me.”

And Draco does, because Harry never addresses him by his actual name. It’s like they’re equals. He looks at Harry, wondering why he has been so kind to him all these weeks. Was there a story behind this gratitude? Why did Harry think he deserved this? 

“I was a bit worried…earlier,” Harry tells him.

“Worried?” repeats Draco with a snort. “About me? Now that is something that doesn’t occur very often.”

“Well, when you mentioned the manor, you just kind of…”

Draco stops laughing and looks down at his feet. So Harry wanted to talk about _that_. Wonderful. He isn’t sure if he wants to talk just yet because the memories are still fresh. But how long can he keep it in? How long it will it be before he explodes? Draco wonders if Harry remembers his parents. Does he remember the Dark Lord coming in that night? Can he still hear his mother screaming?

“I’ve heard her before,” Harry answers him softly, flopping back onto the bed. 

“Shit,” mutters Draco, hating himself for speaking his thoughts aloud. 

“It’s alright. Really, it is.”

But it’s not. Draco feels guilty for bring it up because that’s something personal. People don’t like to talk about stuff like that because it just makes them depressed. Most people avoid talking about the past, glazing it over with small talk about the latest party they went to or what they want to buy tomorrow. But not Harry. Harry keeps his voice low when he tells Draco about his parents. And he never cries. 

“What’s the point?” he asks at one point. “They’re dead like any other person. Then Sirius…now D-Dumbledore…”

Draco doesn’t know what to say. He can’t imagine how hard it is for Harry, to wonder who will die next, day after day. He certainly didn’t think he could deal with losing his parents. But Harry…he never had any. Draco once heard about the Muggles Harry had to live with before going to Hogwarts. He really thought it was some joke. How could Muggles treat a saviour like some servant? Now, it seems very believable.

“Sorry…” whispers Draco, but Harry doesn’t want to hear anymore. 

“No. Don’t be. That’s life.”

“I guess,” agrees Draco hollowly, running a hand over the arm of his chair. 

“But it doesn’t have to be like this, does it?”

“What?”

Suddenly, Draco is being pulled onto the bed. Harry’s hand is in his and he tries to jerk away when he realises this. Harry only holds on tighter. 

_This is wrong,_ Draco tells himself. _This shouldn’t be happening…_

“Tell me, Draco. Can you tell me about what happened? With your mum?”

Oh. So he _still_ wants to know. He would tell him, but then…

“I can’t,” admits Draco hoarsely. “I mean, I saw her…and the Dark Lord…”

“You mean you were there?” 

Draco nods as he lies down next to Harry. He’s on his stomach with his eyes closed, his hand still gripping Harry’s. It feels nice, even peaceful. 

“What did he…do?”

“Tortured her…made me watch and…”

“And what?”

“She was like your mother, actually,” Draco answers after a few moments of contemplation. “It was similar. _Too_ similar.”

“He _did_ that?” exclaims Harry a bit too sharply.

“Yes and…ow! Potter! My hand!”

“Sorry. Err…perhaps we can…let go?”

“Yeah.”

When they do let go, Draco wishes they hadn’t. He feels cold and has the urge to go up to Harry, to have his arms around him and…where are these absurd ideas coming from? It must be too early in the morning for Draco to be thinking properly.

“So the manor then…”

“Gone.”

“Oh.”

“They took most of the things in there before burning it down,” states Draco bitterly.

They let the silence fill in the void as they listen to each other breathe. Sleep pulls at Draco, but he tries to fight it off. He kind of likes this arrangement, with Harry next to him to talk to. He has never had a legitimate conversation with him until now, and it’s actually pleasant to tell someone about himself. About things he would never tell Greg or Vince. Or even Pansy or Blaise, for that matter. There are only so many things he would tell them, that is, if he could. 

With Harry, it’s different. Draco doesn’t have to be self-conscious. He doesn’t have to stop himself from talking about Mother or the Dark Lord. He doesn’t have to feel bad for still remembering that dreadful night. Harry seems to understand him better than anyone else. Ironically, he feels like he can understand Harry. 

_Maybe we’re the same person,_ Draco muses before drifting off. _Maybe it’s supposed to be like this._

~~~~~

Draco notices Harry comes into his room more often than he used to. It was rather surprising at first, but now it’s normal. What does that make them now though? Are they friends, acquaintances? Draco doesn’t dwell on it much, because he still has to help the Order. Meaning he still has to deal with Weasley, Granger and all the other Gryffindor nuisances. Draco likes to think he’s doing it for Harry’s sake so he won’t get kicked out onto the street. Not that Harry would do that.

But the sight of Harry kissing Ginny Weasley one late night trip to the loo is completely unnerving. Even though everyone else is sleeping, they are standing in the small hallway with arms around each other. It’s too dark to see much, but Draco can see enough. Harry is the one against the wall, with Weaselette’s hands on his shoulders. They’re almost pressed together like a sandwich and Harry moans quietly when Weaselette nudges her knee between his legs. He presses his palms flat on the wall, continuing to kiss her passionately. 

Draco can’t understand why this is a big deal to him as he stares. He doesn’t know why Harry still lies to him or acts differently when Order members are around. Was this some kind of game? Was Draco that unworthy? 

_Maybe you are,_ he answers himself resentfully. _Maybe you’re no longer worth his time._

He refuses to believe that last statement and stalks past Harry and Weaselette toward the bathroom. His mind spins with doubts and Draco doesn’t care if he pushes Weaselette a little too hard. She bumps right into Harry, who pulls her close by the waist. Draco pretends not to notice as he grits his teeth. 

It really shouldn’t matter, because Harry can do whatever he wants. Draco reminds himself they are both of age. They can make their own decisions and they can have their own control. In a way, he hates it. Draco hates the fact he can’t ever earn Harry’s trust, like Weaselette can. Or even Granger! And she’s a Muggleborn! 

Draco exhales deeply once he’s in the bathroom, immediately casting the strongest locking charm he knows on the door. He takes a long look into the mirror before splashing cold water on his face. He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to sleep tonight.

~~~~~

“Malfoy! Open the door!”

“What do you want?” questions Draco snidely when he finds Granger at the threshold. 

“Malfoy, where’s Harry?” asks Granger, her voice higher than usual.

“Off with the Weaselette, I reckon.”

“There’s no time for that! Where is Harry?”

“I told you! With Weaselette! How would I know where Boy Wonder is right now?”

“Because he isn’t here!” answers Granger frantically, biting her lip. “We’ve been trying to look for him this entire morning!”

“Wait…what?”

“Ginny said she last saw Harry go downstairs, but that was last night and—”

“Well, this is his house, isn’t it?” points out Draco. “Surely there must be some secret hideout or—”

“We’ve been to all the rooms in this house, Malfoy. We’ve used this for the Order before and…how can Harry just _leave_ like that? What if…”

What if. What if Harry accidentally ran into Death Eaters, or worse, the Dark Lord? What if he was taken as a hostage back to the Riddle House like Draco had been? What if he was already dead? 

“You’re sure—”

“Yes!” cries Granger hysterically. “We can’t find him anywhere!”

“Fuck!” shouts Draco angrily, punching the door. His doubts begin plundering his mind again and he doesn’t want another nightmare to come true. So he grabs Granger’s hand firmly, urging her to follow him.

“W-What are you doing?”

“C’mon!” he says determinedly as they both sprint down the flights of stairs. “We don’t have much time to lose!”

And it’s true, because they can’t be too late. Draco doesn’t know what he will do if they are, though. So he silently prays that Harry is still alive. A world without Harry is like no world at all.

~~~~~

_"Where would someone go during a time like this?"_ Draco asks himself as he paces back and forth in the drawing room.

He can’t understand why Harry would run off, without leaving a note or anything behind to notify everyone. He knows the Order are worried. In fact, they’re hysterical. So far, he has tried his best to help them look in the most obvious places, like Hogwarts. 

“What about Godric’s Hollow?” Granger had suggested earlier in the kitchen, biting her lip.

“But he wouldn’t know where that place is,” replied McGonagall. “Without a map or any sense of direction, how would he find it? And what for?”

“Well, Harry’s of age,” started Lupin thoughtfully. “Surely, he would want to find it out of respect. At least before he goes off to—” 

“Kill You-Know-Who,” finished Weasley, who was as white as a sheet. 

Draco hadn’t said anything as the Order came up with reasons for Harry’s absence. It was typical that Harry would leave on his own free will. But he sensed it had to do more with him. Maybe Draco was in the way of everything. If he hadn’t seen Harry kiss Weaselette, would things have been different?

Even now, as Draco pauses to stare at the family tree tapestry, he wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t gone to Harry for help. Surely, things would have been happier, at least at Grimmauld place. There wouldn’t be people asking Draco where Harry was, questioning him if he really had changed to the Light side. 

“There are no sides!” Draco had shouted in the kitchen after Moody interrogated him about his loyalty. “This is about the Dark Lord trying to take over our world!”

“Our world, eh?” replied Moody suspiciously. “Listen here, laddie. There is a world of peace and a world of chaos. Chaos is what we’re in. We’re in war! With murder and torture—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t you use that language with me, you little—”

“Mr. Malfoy,” interjected McGonagall loudly, “do you know where Potter is?”

“No! I don’t!”

“He has been conversing with you quite frequently. Are you sure—”

“What makes you think _I_ know?” accused Draco, glaring at everyone around him. “I don’t know where the bloody Golden Boy went! I only know as much as you do!”

“This must be some sort of trap,” Weasley indicated slowly. “Maybe it’s one of You-Know-Who’s things to—”

“Plant an image in his mind,” Granger finished, her mouth wide open. “Maybe Harry left to find someone…one of us! Like fifth year, when he took us to the Department of Mysteries to find—”

“Sirius,” muttered Lupin softly.

“It’s not.”

“Says who, Malfoy?” sneered Weasley nastily. 

“I said so, Weasel, and if you all believe this has to do with the Dark Lord, you’re wrong. I would _know_ ,” added Draco, brushing his left forearm with a hand. “Potter wouldn’t do that again, would he?”

“How the fuck would you—”

‘I would know after Dumbledore died,” Draco spat out, shoving his hands in his pockets roughly. “Potter won’t take chances like that. So wherever he is, he knows what he’s doing.”

“But Potter is just a boy—”

“A man,” Draco corrected McGonagall before turning away. “Potter’s of age and he can do whatever he wants. And none of us can stop him.” 

_Because he’s the Chosen One that was meant to fight._

And two hours later, Draco can’t get rid of the accusation from his mind. He feels like he ruined something that could have been perfect. The perfect little Order. The perfect battle. The perfect victory. All which have now crumbled to pieces, because they do not exist. All because of some coward who doesn’t know what he wants in life.

_All because of me_ , Draco thinks, wiping the first tear that runs down his cheek. He still looks at the tapestry, now with a newfound sickness in the pit of his stomach. His name is there. And the only thought that comes to mind is to burn it off. For once in his life, Draco regrets being a Malfoy.

~~~~~

After three days and three nights of waiting, Draco thinks he has lost it. Three days of endless searching led to three nights of restless sleep. He knows things are hopeless because they should have found him by now. Even with a Ministry full of idiots, surely the Aurors would have a clue where Harry is? But there is still no word.

When has Draco become so dependent on Harry? He feels like he needs him. He needs Harry to reassure him that everything is okay, that nothing will happen. Because just when Draco thinks he’s safe, someone goes missing. Someone gets killed. And the Dark Lord is slowly winning. 

But it’s not about victory. This war is about domination. Power. Something his father always wanted. Something everyone seems to crave for, nowadays. What a stupid idea. This isn’t the way to gain power. It only brings pity for the casualties and pity is something Draco despises. He realises Harry never liked it either. So why is Draco wasting his time lying in bed, feeling sorry about everything? 

Just when Draco opens his eyes to get out of bed, he freezes. He can see the shadow of someone closing his door. Draco hears the thumping of his heart, pounding faster and faster. What if? What if this was someone who wanted to kill him for being a blood traitor? What if the Order decided to deal with him now for leading some conspiracy?

It’s too dark to seen anything else, so Draco waits. He waits with fear, unsure if anticipation is getting the better of him. He wants know if Harry is safe, at the least. It surprises him when a hand covers his mouth, which makes him panic.

“Shhh, it’s me!”

“How do I know who you are!” he demands as soon as he manages to push the hand away from him. 

“Draco, you’ll wake everyone up!”

“I don’t care!” sneers Draco angrily, hoping this isn’t a sick joke. “Reveal yourself!”

“Fine.”

When it’s Harry who throws off his Invisibility Cloak, Draco is too stunned for words. It doesn’t reach his mind how Harry crawled on top of him. Harry is leaning toward Draco, straddling him with his legs. Draco can feel his weight; feel the warmth with Harry’s hands pressed into the pillow on either side of his head. Harry looks like a predator, ready to catch his prey. Draco quickly dismisses the thought because all he wants to know is if this is really Harry.

“N-No Polyjuice?”

“Only Hermione can make that,” responds Harry, grinning sheepishly. “I’m no Potion Master.”

Draco grins back before wrapping his arms around Harry. He doesn’t care if his face is buried in the crook of Harry’s neck or that his fingers are threaded through black, messy hair. It only matters that Harry is here. It matters that he came back.

“You missed me that much?” mumbles Harry lazily, rolling off of Draco.

“Yeah, I did,” confesses Draco, embarrassed for acting so needy.

“Missed you, too.”

“What?”

“I went to Godric’s Hollow,” explains Harry, draping an arm over Draco’s bare chest. “I went to see my parents’ graves. Well, at least what’s left of where we once lived.”

“You could have just told us that!” cried Draco exasperatedly, trying to sit up. “Granger and the rest of the lot were worried sick! Hell, _I_ was worried sick!”

“I didn’t want them to know where I went though! This was more for a...personal type of thing.”

Draco thinks he knows what Harry is referring to, but waits for him to continue.

“It’s weird to go back to a place that you can’t really remember. Someplace that could have been your home. It’s still there, but it’s not. The place was just filthy,” adds Harry, screwing up his face with distaste.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if there would be any Horcruxes there either. I mean, who knows if Voldemort’s that stupid to leave something like that there? And then again, it’s not like he would give a damn. But I wanted to talk to them…my parents, that is. I wanted to tell them how much has happened over the last two months. Dumbledore. Fleur and Bill’s wedding. Ginny…”

“Right,” acknowledges Draco cynically, wondering why Harry rants so much.

“But I talked a lot about you.”

“You did?”

“Well, that was basically why I left. Not because I wanted to, Draco,” adds Harry, “but because I _had_ to. There were a lot of things I said to them about you.”

“Like?” 

“Well…”

“Look, you don’t have to—”

“I told them how we once hated each other.”

“And?”

“Then we became friends, yeah?”

“We have,” agrees Draco. “Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah. I actually went to see my parents to get their approval,” Harry answers thoughtfully. 

“What for? When did Harry Potter ever need someone else’s approval?”

“I…”

Draco wants to know what Harry is trying to say. What he doesn’t expect is a kiss. He can feel hands cupping his face and lips touching his. They’re chapped yet soft. He can smell the soap on Harry’s skin and even taste something like chocolate when he opens his mouth a bit wider. It feels good with Harry kissing him like this in a way that he can’t respond. He should be kissing back, biting Harry’s lower lip, feeling the flesh under the thin, dirty Muggle t-shirt…

“I-I’m sorry!” Harry exclaims unexpectedly, pulling back. “I just…shit…”

They’re both breathing loudly, gazing at one another. Harry’s hands are still on Draco’s face, and Draco is the one to push them away. Fury begins to boil up inside of him.

“What the fuck was that, Potter?”

“I just…”

“What would you like from me now?” sneers Draco malevolently, like he’s at Hogwarts again. “Do you think you can just do that without some explanation?”

“No! No, Draco, that’s not it!” 

“What about the Weaselette? What happened to that little fling?”

“It’s not a fling!” protests Harry, reaching out to grab Draco’s hand.

“Don’t touch me!” shouts Draco, glaring dangerously at Harry. 

“I just wanted this!” blurts out Harry. “I wanted this for a while, okay? Is that so much to fucking ask for?”

“You’re not making sense!”

“Of course I’m not!”

“You’re going mad!”

“I didn’t _want_ Ginny the night you saw me! I wanted…”

Realisation slowly dawns on Draco as he watches Harry take his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt.

“Me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

Harry replaces the glasses on his nose, speaking as if he doesn’t hear.

“I tried to want her. I tried to see what it would be like, kissing her again like I did before. I didn’t feel anything. I’m supposed to feel something though, aren’t I?”

Draco is silent, not believing what he’s listening to.

“I thought, ‘Maybe I don’t love her like I used to. Maybe she’s just like a sister to me.’ And I thought that was the problem. But after that night…when I found the cup…it was just weird that you wanted to help me. I was glad we weren’t…well, enemies anymore. That was the real test, wasn’t it? 

“I wanted to trust you when I first found you near the Riddle House, Draco. You were…it reminded me of when I used that spell on you. I still can’t believe I even used it at all. But when you performed the Killing Curse…you could have used that on Dumbledore, did you know that? You could have used that on him or anyone else. You could have been like Voldemort.”

Draco winces at the name, closing his eyes when he feels Harry tuck a strand of blond hair behind his ear.

“But you’re not,” Harry continues softly, looking down at the floor. “That’s what I told my parents.”

“All of this?”

“Yeah. I asked them if they could forgive me for living while they had to…die. Forgive me for being different…and wanting to be with someone like you.”

Draco can only let his mouth open as Harry leans in to kiss him on the cheek. He can’t get over the fact that Harry would _fancy_ him of all people and…

“I understand if that’s not what you want, though.”

“I never said that! I just…”

Draco doesn’t know what he’s saying because he can only remember grabbing Harry harshly to kiss him again. This time, he kisses back with all the passion he wasn’t given in the past. It’s different from kissing Pansy, but it feels right. Pansy always wanted him to give and give. But Harry deserves something because he is the first person who changed him. Harry never asks Draco to give anything back. Only to learn to appreciate. That, Draco had already done, and still does.

He pulls Harry closer to his body as he lies on his back, letting lips trail kisses toward his earlobe. Draco stifles back a moan when teeth bite down and…this is just what he wants. The more Harry bites him, licks him, sucks his neck…it’s like ecstasy. Draco has never been given this kind of treatment and he’s definitely not complaining. 

Clutching the sheets between his fingers, Draco arches up when Harry licks a wet trail down to his abdomen. Harry travels lower and lower…but then he comes right up again, aligning his body with Draco’s to kiss his neck again. They both groan as soon as they feel such close contact. 

“Ever done this before?” Draco gasps, hissing when Harry shifts on top of him.

“N-No…oh…”

They groan again when they move against each other, finally letting their sounds echo within the room. Draco doesn’t care if someone hears them, because it feels too good to cast a Silencing Spell at the moment. This must be the hottest thing ever because he’s already hard. He can tell Harry is too. Harry’s erection keeps poking his thigh, and all Draco wants to do is take it in his hand and squeeze. He has never held someone else’s cock before besides his own but if this was going too fast…

“H-Harry…” 

“Yeah?”

But Draco throws his head back when Harry establishes a steady rhythm of friction between them. They continue to rub themselves against each other, both eager for more pleasure. Perspiration is running down their bodies, making Harry’s shirt stick to Draco’s pale chest. 

“Let me…”

Draco takes the opportunity to strip the shirt off of Harry before throwing it aside. He can barely process the goodness of seeing Harry’s naked torso, so he occupies himself by kissing Harry again. Draco manages to slip his tongue into his mouth, wanting to taste more. He bites Harry’s lip, exactly the way he imagined it only minutes ago. Their hands are everywhere and they rub their erections together, faster, harder…

“More…” pleads Draco, bucking his hips with Harry’s.

So Harry gives him more by grabbing his arse. He gives Draco more by squeezing his soft buttocks with his hands. Draco whimpers, loving the feeling of those hands ravishing him. But it isn’t enough. 

“I need…”

Draco has to break apart as he shut his eyes. He slides his hand down his pyjama pants, secretly thankful he isn’t wearing any underwear tonight. He needs to take care of his cock, because if he doesn’t…

“No.”

Draco opens his eyes to see Harry eying him like a monster. His eyes are a dark green, now with a menacing glint to them. Draco almost wants to laugh, because it looks like Harry wants to eat him for a meal. He shouts out, instead, when a hand finds its way to his cock.

“G-Good….so good,” moans Draco, withdrawing his hand from his pants to let Harry do all the work. 

Harry responds by rubbing his own stiff prick against Draco’s thigh again while pumping Draco’s cock at the same time. Draco tries to keep his eyes open, to watch Harry open his mouth with pleasure or screw his eyes shut. It’s a beautiful sight because they’re doing this to each other. 

Each time Harry grunts, it goes right to Draco’s cock. He doesn’t know why he is _this_ hard, because he hadn’t thought it was _possible_ to last this long. Is it wrong that he’s enjoying every single second of this intimacy he hasn’t had before? Draco can only let Harry finish him up, because he’s weakening. He bites down on Harry’s shoulder when his balls tighten. Draco has no idea what the hell that hand is doing to him, but it’s slowly killing him. Any moment now…

“Gahhh!” 

He can’t see anything but black, yet he knows he’s coming. He’s shuddering all over Harry’s hand, and this must be the best orgasm of his life. His hands have somehow found their way to Harry’s hair, as he is now pulling on it. 

“Narghhh,” Harry manages to say, releasing Draco’s flaccid cock and undoing the fly of his jeans quickly.

Draco is still shaking from the aftermath but he immediately knows what Harry is doing. He reaches for Harry’s boxer-covered cock, secretly happy how hard Harry is right now. A grateful groan elicits from Harry’s throat because it doesn’t take long before it’s over. The semen is hot in Draco’s hand, despite the cotton that is in the way. Draco wipes it on his chest, too exhausted to do anything else. Tonight has taught him an important lesson.

“I want this, Harry.”

“Y-You do?” stammers Harry, astonished.

“Yeah, I do,” confirms Draco more confidently, pulling Harry into an embrace.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Who knew he can be this happy? The closest thing to happiness for Draco goes back to the time when his father bought the Slytherin team Nimbus 2001s. But there is only so much money can buy.

“So why me?” queries Draco, nuzzling his nose against Harry’s arm.

“I’ve known you the longest,” murmurs Harry gently.

“But we insulted each other! And…”

“Watched each other.”

“I never did such a thing!”

“That’s a lie. With you always finding a way to get me in trouble…”

“Well, you were the one watching me like a hawk last year!”

“That’s true,” considers Harry, placing a kiss on Draco’s temple. “But I think it has more to do with us.”

“Us?”

“No one knows me better than you, Draco.”

Draco smiles as he closes his eyes. So this is what it feels like to be cared about. To feel loved. All the anxiety, tension, concern and need…it was because of Harry. Everything has always been about Harry. For now, Draco doesn’t have to worry about anything. They are going to be just fine.


End file.
